


give you my wild, give you a child

by romanovaly



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Baby Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, this is the height of self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanovaly/pseuds/romanovaly
Summary: Happily ever afters have been known to happen on occasion, even in the nation's capital.Or: Donna, Josh, and another DC hospital room.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Zoey Bartlet/Charlie Young
Comments: 11
Kudos: 130





	give you my wild, give you a child

**Author's Note:**

> for the last two months all i've done is watch the west wing and listen to folklore. this word vomit is the consequence of that. i won't apologize for adding to the post-series fluff that is josh/donna and their dc version of a fairytale ending because i'm an absolute sucker.

_and you know that i'd  
swing with you for the fences  
sit with you in the trenches  
give you my wild, give you a child  
give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other  
family that i chose now that i see your brother as my brother_

_[peace, taylor swift]_

.&.

Josh crams onto the bed with them, the quiet look of awe on his face reminiscent of snowballs thrown at windows and inaugural gowns under wool coats. His whole hand spans the width of the baby’s back—the same hand that’s shook that of presidents and dignitaries, that’s slammed desks in frustration and gently guided her down crowded hallways—dwarfs the small figure of their son.

“Toby was right about the hats,” he says, voice low and filled with soft wonder as one finger traces the edge of the pale blue beanie, his wedding ring glinting in the rising dawn.

Donna nods, her hair catching against the stubble on his jaw, and settles further back against his chest. If Josh were to move, she’s sure she’d just collapse against the bed. She’s never felt so exhausted—not from long days on the campaign trail or at the height of the MS scandal or those endless, endless hours after Rosslyn—but she can’t seem to close her eyes, too focused on selfishly coveting every second of time with her hours-old baby.

The nurse comes by, pen and clipboard in hand, but Donna barely registers her presence, too focused on wiggling each of her baby’s ten perfect fingers and toes. Josh joins her in the investigation, lightly running a finger over rosebud lips and down the slight slope of their son’s nose.

“You’ve got quite the entourage out there,” the nurse says, not unkindly, as she checks the quietly beeping monitors.

“Best protected baby on the Eastern seaboard,” says a puffed-up Josh and Donna finds her waning strength to catch the nurse’s amused look and roll her eyes in reply.

“Have we got a name yet?”

“Future POTUS,” he jokes, a dimple flashing in his cheek, even as his gaze refuses to stray from their sleeping son.

“Leo,” she offers, voice just above a whisper. “Leopold Christopher Lyman.” The nurse nods while Josh jerks against her, the hand around her waist briefly clutching the fabric of her hospital gown.

“I’ll let the doctor know right away,” says the nurse, writing it on her clipboard before bustling out of the room.

Donna taps Baby Leo’s nose, watching it scrunch in discomfort like her own, and waits Josh out. She counts the breaths the baby takes, _in one two three_ , _out one two three_ , and finds comfort in the fluttering of eyelashes against petal soft cheeks and the twitch of tiny fingers against her own.

She can hear the rush of the hospital corridor beyond their room, the murmur of C-SPAN on the television in the corner and the buzz of their cellphones as messages pour in from slowly waking friends and family.

Josh shifts beside her, head tilting down to press a lingering kiss against her hair. “I thought we weren’t gonna name him after anyone,” he murmurs, and Donna can hear the tears catch in his throat. “We’ve saddled him with enough of a legacy as it is,” he gives a wet laugh and she turns her head to the side, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

She pulls away slowly, lets Josh chase after her once, twice, before he settles his head in the crook of her neck, back to staring at their son.

“It’s his birthday,” says Donna, fixing the baby’s matching blue blanket.

“Well, yeah, that’s usually how we celebrate labor and delivery,” snarks Josh and she rolls her eyes, nudging him in the ribs. He lifts his gaze back to her, eyebrows raising in a silent question.

Donna nods at the whiteboard by the door, where the nurses and doctors have scribbled various notes along with her name and the date. Josh moves his head, following her line of sight. She can see when he makes the connection, blinking rapidly at the reminder.

“It’s his birthday,” she repeats, a small smile on her face. “He would’ve been so excited for you.”

“For us,” Josh corrects, “He would’ve been excited for the both of us. Probably would’ve made the Secret Service shut down the whole ward so he could visit in person and share horror stories of me, Joanie, and Mallory when we were kids.”

Donna nods, “Leo was— _is_ —important to you. To _us_. There’s nothing wrong with making sure our son knows how much.”

“He would’ve hated it,” Josh chuckles, running the back of his hand against the baby’s arm. “He would’ve grumbled about us giving our kid with his name. Like it’s a political harbinger or something.” He stops, lost in old memories, “Can you imagine the look on his face the first time our kid called him Grandpa Leo?”

She hums in quiet acknowledgment, letting her fingers graze the back of Josh’s, suddenly eager for the warmth of his skin, “Zoey’s already warned me that her father has claimed that title in memoriam.”

“I think that’s just him dropping anvil sized hints to her and Charlie.”

“Pretty sure they need to set a date for the wedding first.”

“Pretty sure they’re using that as an excuse for no grandkids yet.”

“Well there’s not much left for a retired president to do except spoil his grandchildren rotten, you know.”

Josh laughs softly, the hand at her waist coming up to tangle in her hair at the base of her neck. “If he’s looking for another baby to give him the runaround, he should call up CJ and Danny. I swear that kid is gonna be speaking compound sentences before she’s three.”

Baby Leo yawns suddenly, his tiny mouth smacking against open air and his little arms stretching wide, before burrowing further into his mother’s arms. Josh and Donna watch, transfixed, thoroughly enraptured with the small person in front of them.

“I hope he has your smile,” she says, lightly tapping one of Leo’s chubby cheeks.

“He’s got your nose for sure,” replies Josh, moving his hand from the baby to run down the slope of Donna’s nose before curling it against her jaw.

They shift further down the bed, facing each other with the baby cradled between them; Josh on the left, Donna on the right. He tilts her head up, hand resting on the curve of her neck and presses several long kisses to her lips, pulling back only briefly to whisper into the space between them.

“I love you.”

A commotion outside the door, familiar voices loudly overlapping with laughter, breaks through their quiet bubble. There’s a double knock before Bobby, the agent in charge of Josh’s detail, opens the door to their room and sticks his head in, “Mr. Lyman, there’re a few visitors out here looking for you.”

His face gives nothing away, Secret Service training far too ingrained, but Donna swears she catches a glint of humor in his dark gaze.

“Bobby, have you met my son?” Josh asks, suddenly full of boundless energy. He pulls himself up off the bed and carefully cradles the baby in his arms, making sure to support his head as the nurse instructed earlier.

“No, sir, not yet,” Bobby replies and Donna, even years removed from her time as an assistant, can hear the way he’s humoring Josh’s antics.

She uses the brief respite to stretch her arms and knead the kinks in her neck. She’s exhausted and in desperate need of a shower. Josh, she knows, should shave and consume something other than coffee, but the quiet delight written across his face erases the pall of fatigue as he holds Leo up to Bobby, the agent cracking a smile at the sight of a newborn baby.

“Who’s outside?” she asks, running fingers through matted hair and wishing for a swig of mouthwash.

“Mr. Seaborn, Ms. Schott, Mr. Young, and Ms. Bartlet,” Bobby answers promptly. “Ms. Bartlet, in particular, said she’s not above forcing her way past the other agents.”

Josh barks out a laugh, leaning in close to the baby, “Your Aunt Zoey is definitely not to be messed with.”

Donna watches the pair with a fond smile, Josh already clearly a natural. Leo, awake in his arms, stares up at his father with wide eyes, one tiny hand reaching out to grab Josh’s mouth as he talks.

Bobby’s still grinning, unable to hide his delight behind a mask of professionalism.

“Let ‘em in, Bobby,” she says with a resigned sigh, “Better that than a headline tomorrow reading former First Daughter and current Deputy Chief of Staff thrown out of Georgetown hospital for causing a ruckus.”

He laughs and dips his head in understanding. He gives a small wave to Leo before sliding back out of the room, intent on rustling up their wayward friends.

Josh stays standing, letting the baby grip his right hand while rocking him around the room.

“Hey,” she calls softly and Josh pauses, shifting to face her. The sun’s grown brighter in the room and its burgeoning rays, broken by the hospital’s blinds, scatter across his face. “I love you, too, you know.”

Josh’s answering grin is her favorite, a slow stretch across his face, ending with dimples carved deep into his cheeks and a warm gaze that never fails to make her blush. It’s taken her years to realize he’s only ever shared that look with her—leaning against the doorjamb in a makeshift office in New Hampshire; kneeling on the floor as he swore to never stop for a beer if she were in an accident; standing before her in a bland hotel room, reaching for a second, third, fourth kiss; at the end of a long aisle surrounded by their closest family and friends; and, once, in a hospital room half a world away as the only face she had wanted to see.

He takes a few steps towards her, their son still nestled in the crook of his arm. She’s seen him dressed up in a tuxedo, his bow tie hanging undone around his neck. She’s seen him dressed down in jeans and a ratty Harvard sweatshirt, pale and worn in a hospital gown, and slumped over his desk, tie askew and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She’s seen him in all matters of undress, standing tall and proud beside two presidents of the United States, and, still, she knows this is the best view of Josh she’s ever seen.

The door opens suddenly, quickly disrupting her growing emotions. Sam and Zoey tumble through first, the latter clutching a stuffed teddy bear and the former wearing a bright grin on his weary face. Charlie’s carrying a brown bag and a tray of to-go cups, while Annabeth is clutching a bouquet of flowers and balloons.

Donna’s tired and sore and never been more grateful for friends turned family.

She watches Annabeth putter around the room, cheerfully bossing Charlie as Zoey and Sam crowd Josh and Baby Leo, cooing and pulling faces unbecoming of the adults they all pretend to be.

Annabeth comes up to her first, giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Special delivery from the President and First Lady,” she says. “They say to send pictures as soon as possible or they won’t be held accountable for shutting down the hospital for a visit and some baby snuggles.”

Donna laughs, overcome with affection, and grips Annabeth’s hand in thanks.

Charlie quickly swoops in with a kiss to the cheek, holding out a cup from Starbucks. “One decaf hazelnut latte for the new mom,” he says, and she feels tears fill her eyes in gratitude. He nods to the bag sitting on her tray table. “Plus, bagels and schmear from that place near Dupont.”

“You’re a king among men, Charlie Young,” she replies, gripping the latte and lifting the lid to let the steam out. “If you manage to swap the baby for a bagel in Josh’s hands, I’ll consider you a god.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “That might be easier than you think,” he says, pointing to where Zoey’s already lifting Leo into her arms and Donna grins as she watches Josh hover even as Zoey rolls her eyes.

“Hello, _not_ the first baby I’ve ever held, Josh, stop freaking out,” Zoey’s voice carries in the small room. “Here, you can hold the bear. His name is Roosevelt and if you actually answer your phone sometime today, you can listen to dad lecture you about Teddy Roosevelt and the history of teddy bears.”

The younger woman spins on her heel, heading towards Donna and settling on the edge of the hospital bed. “He’s pretty cute,” says Zoey, leaning down to prod at the baby’s cheeks and nose. “Are you sure he’s half of Josh?”

Josh’s indignant whine sends the whole room into laughter. He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips, teddy bear still in his grip, “Sure, sure, laugh it up, see if I let any of you hold my son.”

“That ain’t your call, man,” says Charlie, sagely, “Donna’s the one who makes those.”

She listens with half an ear as Josh begrudgingly agrees, before the three of them start in on the back-pounding hugs and Sam mentions the waiting food and coffee.

Annabeth perches on the bed next to Zoey, pulling down a corner of the blanket they’ve been swaddling Leo in. “I think he’s got Josh’s eyebrows,” she says, contemplatively.

Zoey nods, “Yeah, but he’s got Donna’s ears and chin.”

Donna shifts, pulling herself higher into a sitting position, “I just hope he gets Josh’s dimples.”

“What’s his name?”

It’s Sam who asks, coming around to press a quick kiss to her forehead and peer down at her sleeping son, a half-eaten bagel already in his hand. Zoey and Annabeth glance up at her, too, clearly realizing she and Josh haven’t shared it yet. Charlie joins their little huddle while Josh walks to the other side, lowering the bed railing so he can settle down next to her. She passes him her latte while he shares his bagel, leaving their friends impatiently waiting.

He glances down at her, mouth twitching into a tiny grin as an eyebrow quirks up. She smiles at him and shakes her head, nudging his side with her elbow. She may have told the nurse, but this moment was all his.

Josh takes a breath and looks out across at the four of them gathered next to the hospital bed. Donna follows, finding Sam’s steadfast love, Annabeth’s bright optimism, Charlie’s quiet comfort, and Zoey’s enduring strength. She thinks of Toby’s somber brilliance and CJ’s endless humor; the Bartlets’ invaluable guidance and the Santos’ continual friendship.

She thinks of Leo. Of the baby in Zoey’s arms so new to this world. So innocent and unblemished, made from all the perfect bits of her and Josh and here in spite of all their failures.

She thinks of Leo. Of the man who offered her a seat on a full bus to South Carolina on faith alone. Of the mentor who championed Josh, especially when others hadn’t. She thinks of his crooked grin and his battle-won wisdom and his storied belief in good people doing good things.

She thinks, that’s not a bad guy to have guiding the path of her son.

Josh clears his throat, shifting again to wrap an arm low around her waist, fingers warm at the small of her back. She leans against him, confident in Josh’s unbridled passion and unbroken devotion; assured, like always, in her place next to him.

He’s almost dragged it out for too long; Annabeth nearly vibrates in excitement and Sam’s grin is approaching forced politeness. Their son, as if already as message-savvy as his parents, stretches in Zoey’s arms, breaking the mounting tension with a full body wriggle and the sleepy smack of his lips.

“Leo,” Josh shares with the room, every bit a beaming new father. “His name’s Leo.”


End file.
